


art isn't meant to be hung up, anyways

by softlees



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Cute, Fluff, I'll come back to tag this later, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 19:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15713877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlees/pseuds/softlees
Summary: "I'm taking you on the first date," Wonwoo says, surely, though Soonyoung catches the slight tremble of his fingers, the catch in his throat, the way his eyes dart back and forth between Soonyoung and Seokmin, as if daring to contradict him."I would like to take you on a date," Soonyoung decides to say instead, putting the flowers into a vase. "It's nicer if you ask this way. I'd also be more inclined to say yes, you know.""Yes," Wonwoo tilts his head. "What you said."—or, the one where Wonwoo decides it'd be a good idea to take Soonyoung on dates because he really, really wants something Soonyoung has.





	art isn't meant to be hung up, anyways

**Author's Note:**

  * For [triggerswaggiehavoc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/triggerswaggiehavoc/gifts).



> Your prompt was really lovely, and it gave me the excuse to run away with this sort of thing. I'm glad I could have the chance to write this for you! Hopefully I didn't mangle it too much, and that you enjoy it. 
> 
> Here's also, a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/cua8vtgpa3apd76jmhsk0c685/playlist/5ZLlULOy6xpW1wb27vxeCF?si=3TnOsHRsQJSLTEvJiRSJfQ) for you to listen to, inspired by this piece.
> 
> It probably isn't clear from any of the summary, but in this universe Soonyoung is an antiquities/art dealer, and Wonwoo is a curator.

 

Soonyoung falls in love on a Wednesday. Not with a person—  because that would be an awfully clichéd thing to start off any story with — but with a feeling.

 

It seizes him when he’s twenty years old and staring at the way brushstrokes curl up into each other on a piece of canvas. _Café Terrace at Night, Vincent Van Gogh. 1888._ He'd only really taken this class because he'd needed the credit, but as the professor drones on about dead men  who have their craft preserved in immortality, his gaze wanders to the screen. Nothing else has ever quite captured him like this.

 

He marvels at the way words are hidden in pictures, if he is meticulous enough to pay close attention to the whispers. Soonyoung isn’t plenty generous with his attention; he has the tendency to be more of an antsy firecracker than a patient stream, but for this strange new beauty, he learns how to. _The Kiss, Gustav Klint. 1907-1908._

 

He doesn't know how else to explain the sort of wonder that fills him up inside when he comes across a body of art, except that he loves it, terribly so. _Girl with a Pearl Earring, Johannes Vermeer. 1665._ He thinks it's like the feeling dancers get when they're performing on stage, no matter if it's in front of hundreds or thousands. There comes this part where everything slides into place with a soft click, like the notch has been there all this time and he only had to spend some time trying find it. This is where he belongs, he's sure; in this universe, this is the thing that Soonyoung is destined to love. He's in the right place. He has to be.

 

There's a catch in his throat and an yearning in his chest that begins to unfurl and stir and tremble when he marches up to his counselor and asks what he can do to change his major. _Are you sure?_ she asks, but Soonyoung's already nodding his _yes_ ’s too fervently for her to do anything but purse her lips and print out the curriculum for him to pore over.

 

It's a magnificent crashing together and breaking apart. His parents don't really understand him, and neither do any of his friends, but they try to. And he is happier than he's ever been. His life feels frayed at the seams sometimes, at his lowest, when he's sitting with a half empty cup of coffee and trails of student loans calling his name, wondering just what lies beyond the horizon for him to do. There are some moments that make it all worth it though, like someone had been watching out for him, pushing a gentle reminder of what put him down this path in the first place his way, and he remembers. He remembers the wonder in his bones, at the way he'd crick his neck trying to understand where all these pieces came from, their driving source of inspiration, their stories. Their history. Figures he wants to keep passing it along, for however long they want to last.

 

He ends up setting up shop in a tiny sleepy town, just south of some river. The fog that rolls into their harbor in the morning is always gone by early afternoon, just when the strongest rays of sunlight make their way through the dense mist, like clockwork. Soonyoung gets used to the way it seems to trap him and the rest of the town in a haze. Sometimes it really does still feel like he’s stuck in a dream.

 

Soonyoung names his little odds and ends shop _Lilili Yabbay_ , after he finds the words etched on the side of book falling apart at the seams. He buys it at a garage sale, keeps it tucked in his back pocket out of fond remembrance and some sort of hardheaded loyalty that no one else understands. The name had spoken to him, and he liked the way it rolled off his tongue, funnily enough, and the bond that becomes forged because of something so simple will last him a lifetime, wrapped in a tendril of a memory tucked safely away in his mind. He hangs up the gleaming freshly lacquered sign above his store, and grins. _Lilili Yabbay_ it is.

 

The life he carves out for himself is a little rough; it's bound to be, starting a shop full of things that people throw away. But he's happy, if nothing else. He convinces himself that this is sort of thing that he must endure, that this is the sort of price he needs to pay for a life full of soft dreams and romantic things. Dealing in antiquities is not a kind business, especially when the world tends to lose interest in the old and decaying and dying fast. Patience is in his best interest, Jihoon advises him sternly, over the phone.

 

And so Soonyoung waits. He does business with the sprinkle of customers that wander in and out of his shop, keeping _Lilili_ _Yabbay_ afloat the best he can, and makes some friends. There's Seokmin, who runs the flower shop across the street, and Chan, the deliveryboy - Soonyoung refuses to call him a man just yet, there's just something about the marked exuberance in which he carries himself and in the set of his shoulders that makes him seem so young despite the tiny three year age gap between them. Jihoon is the only one left from his life before, but Soonyoung doesn't get to talk to him much; the fog more often than not destroys what little internet connection remains in their tiny town.

 

He doesn't mind it much. This is his querencia, his healing. There are worse ways he could be living, like being confined to a desk, working a nine to five job where he’ll be considered lucky if he gets a window seat, a glimpse of a morose concrete jungle in sight.

 

Soonyoung's sure that he would have suffocated, dying the slowest of deaths, if he were ever to be caught in that web. Here, he is his own boss. The freedom is gratifying, it makes him never want to leave. There's a kind of a comfort in realizing that he's just as much stuck in this town as it has stuck to him.

 

Just as Jihoon promises, it turns around. Maybe Soonyoung is lucky, or a hard worker, or he's a little bit of both. Whatever it is, he starts getting more customers, this time from places other than his precious sleepy town trapped by fog. He's got a _reputation_ now, this sort of magic touch, both with people and the objects that he so tenderly picks up along the way. A giant oak wardrobe whose paint has just begun to chip at the edges, this giant noble grandfather clock elaborately detailed and styled in the rich splendor of an era two century ago, a gnarled rocking chair carved out of a tree far older than Soonyoung can even count back towards. All it takes is one kind praise for word to spread like wildfire. Business booms, and the money rolls in. Soonyoung is comfortable, finally, and he thinks this is the best sort of victory he’s ever achieved.

 

 _Are you doing well for yourself?_ Jihoon asks him, as is their customary greeting. Soonyoung has to stifle a snort every time at the stiffness of such a gesture, considering how close they are. But this time? This time it's different. Soonyoung can hardly tamp down the burgeoning smile spreading across his face.

 

He can finally mean it when he replies, _Yeah. Yeah I am._

 

* * *

 

Soonyoung rounds the corner in a flurry of limbs, arms, and knees, clutching onto his beret with a vengeance. The coffee's he's hastily brewed nearly spills out of his hands as he trips over a crack in the road. A splash of it makes its way onto his very white, very new tee, but he's far too preoccupied with something else to fret about the casualty.

 

"Where are you going in such a rush, neighbor?" Seokmin asks cheerfully, waving to Soonyoung as he trims the bushes at the front of his shop tenderly.

 

"Not now, Seokmin," Soonyoung calls, jamming his cup of coffee under his chin and balancing it with one hand while the other scrambles to find the right key to unlock _Lilili Yabbay_ . He hisses at the burning sensation dripping onto his hand, but endures the scathing pain until he hears the familiar _clunk_ of the key turning in the lock and swings the door open.

 

"I'm hurt." Soonyoung does not have to look at Seokmin to know he is pouting like he does when he doesn’t get the attention he wants.

 

“You’re twenty, Seokmin, not two,” he reminds the other shopkeep, as he rushes headfirst into _Lilili Yabbay_. Soonyoung tosses the doors open dramatically, with a bang and an appropriate amount of fanfare. She welcomes him with open arms— yes, Soonyoung is the type of person to affectionately treat objects as human beings; it makes life an awful lot more fun to live, he thinks— and immediately envelops him in a kind of hug only things that are not alive can do, with a strong whiff of worn leather and polish. Soonyoung beams at the familiar smell, delectably weathered.

 

Seokmin’s voice comes amused, floating through the open air. “Seeing you do this every single morning never gets old.”

 

Soonyoung takes the time to gingerly pull out a coaster before placing his beverage on the freshly polished tiled counter and whipping around to face Seokmin with a sour look on his face. “Find someone else to watch through the windows, creep.”

 

Seokmin laughs, as usual, eyes nearly disappearing with the strength of such joy and eyebrows rising straight up; he and Soonyoung are much too close for either one of them to take it as something other than playful banter. Soonyoung just rolls his eyes fondly, moving to the front of the shop and flipping the trusty worn sign hanging just above one of the flung open doors over to _OPEN_ , throwing on an apron and tidying up as he goes.

 

Today’s a Sunday, so business will be slow. The townspeople like to wake up slowly on Sundays, finally rousing from the throes of their sleep when the last of the fog grazes the tips of their chimneys, battling a persistent sun. It feels like a yawn personified, to be up so early and with no one milling up and down the streets as they usually are. Soonyoung rubs the sleep out of his eyes, and peers down the boulevard, sharp eyes scanning the distance.

 

He frowns as he glances at the gaudy clock hanging on the ceiling, a monstrosity decorated with flashy gold and heavy chains dangling from the bottom. It isn’t like Chan to be late. He drills his fingers across the top of his thighs, teeth nervously worrying bottom lip.

 

“Expecting someone?” Seokmin hums, far too invested in business that is not his own. Soonyoung fervently wishes for someone in this town to get married, so that the florist will have his hands full with orders and refrain from sticking his abnormally long handsome nose into matters that do not pertain to him.

 

“Something like that,” Soonyoung says distractedly. He rearranges a set of vases in a specific fashion, realizes he prefers the previous arrangement, and fiddles with them so that they return to normal, something he tends to do when he get nervous. It beats wringing his hands and accidentally breaking anything within a five foot radius.

 

“Like what?”

 

“If you must know, an art piece dear to me is supposed to arrive soon.” Soonyoung frowns. “Where _is_ that delivery-boy?”

 

“He’s probably lazing around.” Seokmin shakes his head at something, smiling shamelessly, but Soonyoung is too caught up in his own anxiety to see it. “Our taxpayer dollars hard at work.”

 

“Ingrate.” Soonyoung scowls, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. He adjusts his beret for good measure, because his hands have always had to be kept busy, and this is the best thing he can do. He has rearranged all the tiny trinkets on display in his store back to front and front to back already. “And for all that I do for him, too. He’d be jobless if I hadn’t suggested him for the position, you know.”

 

"Are you talking about me?" Chan materializes from underneath Seokmin's rose pink awning, bulky frame in tow. “You should be more thankful, Soonyoung. I’m the only one who gets you your packages on time, no matter the weather.”

 

Soonyoung stops struggling with the dust on a bookshelf that he swears was not there before, and narrows his eyes at the two grinning men. "Brats."

 

Chan and Seokmin burst out into twin peals of laughter. Soonyoung would join them, usually, but the matter at hand is just far too important. He just holds out his hands and makes grabby motions, heart hammering in his chest.

 

When Soonyoung means business, he means business, and this time is no different. Once the laughter subsides, Chan adjusts his newsboy cap and slings his messenger bag across his chest before striding across the street, package in hand. Chan’s lips twitch as he hands it off to Soonyoung. He doesn’t care about the impish boy anymore, the desire to take a good look at what lies underneath the wrapping mingling with a sort of impatience that he’s sure would swallow him whole if he let it.

 

“Here you go,” Chan grins, gingerly placing it in Soonyoung’s outstretched grasp. “Safe and sound.”

 

“It better be,” Soonyoung grumbles, but his attention is zeroed in on the wrapped parcel in his hands. He flaps a hand absentmindedly at Chan, turning around to carefully clear the counter and place the thing on it. “You’re five minutes late, you know.”

 

He flicks open a pocket knife and begins to carefully cut things open, taking great care not to accidentally slice the object inside. Soonyoung would have made a good surgeon in another life, had he actually the affinity for science like his parents so desperately wished. The delicateness by which he holds the tool and the precision with which he makes these cuts are actually gleaned from years of opening packages and lots of internet shopping.

 

“I was not late,” Chan fires back. “I was in Seokmin’s shop the entire time. He invited me in for tea.” He is quick to toss his accomplice under the bus. Soonyoung stifles a snort at the complete lack of loyalty.

 

“Don’t bring me into this!” Seokmin protests. “How was I supposed to know that _this_ was the package Soonyoung’s been waiting for forever?”

 

“Maybe if you could read, dimwit, you’d see that it reads _URGENT_ and _IMPORTANT_ , _GET TO SOONYOUNG_ on the sides.” Chan says affectionately, rolling his eyes. He takes off his cap, forehead starting to bead with sweat from the exertion of his delivery duties, running his hands through his hair. Chan has the tendency to bounce back on forth on the balls of his feet when he's curious, and now is no different. “What makes this particular package so important, anyways? You get stuff like this all the time, don’t you?”

 

Soonyoung finds the words lodged in his throat. It was true that he received a lot of gifts and treasures over the years, either from sponsors or well-to-do-wishers that read about his shop and wanted him specifically to find new homes for their old things, but this delivery in particular was important to him.

 

In all honesty, the painting was nothing special. There wasn't anything particularly fetching about it, and if one was a passerby on the street, they'd give it a curious glance, a simple once-over, but nothing more. It held little esteem in the world of art, unlike the works of Michelangelo or Botticelli or da Vinci. There was nothing distinctive about it either, a myriad of colors thrown onto canvas in chaotic fashion.

 

But to Soonyoung, it meant the world. [Splashed between the overwhelming yellow and the faint brushstrokes](http://images.dekooning.org/www_dekooning_org/WdKWebAS000430.jpg) was a memory, a feeling, a person, a being. Soonyoung's fingers tighten, nearly cutting himself open on the blade.

 

Jeonghan had promised him that he’d get this to Soonyoung, even if he lived in a “godforsaken boon town” (his words, not Soonyoung’s), even if they had broken up. He had not held much stock in it, since promises were only made to be broken, and even more so when they were spoken by a pretty face as delicate as Jeonghan’s, but apparently the man did not forget words slurred in between drunken confessions.

 

Now that it is in front of him, now that he knows that the painting is real and physical and indeed corporeal, he finds that his fingers tremble.

 

Chan frowns, peering over his shoulder. "That's it?"

 

Soonyoung shushes him. Art is funny like that. It can mean different things to different people, or nothing at all. It depends on the beholder, and Soonyoung is very much beholden.

 

Chan rolls his eyes, and turns to leave. His voice is fond though, and Soonyoung appreciates him immensely in this moment. It is hard to find good people like Chan, people who will let him do what he loves without poking at it clumsily and trespass where they do not belong.

 

"I know, I know. I can take a hint. Have fun with your painting, Soonyoung." The bell chimes when Chan makes his way out the door, flipping the sign back over so that it says _CLOSED_. Soonyoung will be a while, and it is a Sunday anyways. There is little business to be had, and any potential loss of customers will hardly be a dent in Soonyoung's income. Seokmin hollers something across the street, asking about an update ("What? What is it? Are they nudes?" “Why in the world would someone send nudes through the mail, Seokmin? It’s the twenty first century.” “Well, yeah, but you never know, Soonyoung is one kinky weirdo.”), but it is muted already, tuned out.

 

Soonyoung pulls out a chair and just sits and admires his new acquisition. He makes a note to send Jeonghan a bouquet of flowers or something. Thank you feels awkward coming out of his mouth, especially to a chapter he thought he had already written off, but Jeonghan still remembered. He still cares.

 

The realization sits heavy on Soonyoung's chest, and the relief that floods his being when he recognizes a springy lightness in his heart instead of the suffocating grief (like it used to) is crushing. It has been two years, but the memory is still strong — laughter rising in the air, soft hands coming around to tangle in his hair, a voice syrupy sweet. Wine sweet kisses and an apartment shared. A forgotten ring, still in its box.

 

Soonyoung's bare ring finger winks at him when he spreads his hands reverently over the canvas. Now, when he is far more grown, he can say that it was a good thing Jeonghan and him never came to be. They were much too destructive for each other's tastes, fires that never quite stopped chasing the sparking ends of their tails.

 

He turns around to gaze at Seokmin's shop, mind preoccupied with pretty bouquets and fancy arrangements. He wonders if Jeonghan still likes lilies.

  


* * *

 

 

His alarm is mighty annoying this morning, Soonyoung thinks, groaning with a stretch. His bones pop, one by one, filling up the empty apartment with even more noise. He blearily opens his eyes, and comes face to face with his pet cat, a roguish tabby named Hoshi.

 

Hoshi gives him a disapproving look, to which Soonyoung just sticks out his tongue and shuffles up, grimacing at the sour taste in his mouth. These looks that Hoshi gives him are good practice for whenever his parents get the courage to sail up the river and visit him, only to find that their youngest son is still very much single and very much not interested in dating in the near future.

 

Hoshi lets out a dissatisfied _mrow_ , and prowls over to his food bowl before plopping down and affixing Soonyoung with an expectant look. Soonyoung scratches his tummy sleepily and shuffles past her, ignoring Hoshi completely.

 

"You only get food when you're nice to me," Soonyoung says sternly as he begins to brew his coffee. He winces at the crick in his neck that makes itself known as he tilts his head upwards, scrounging his cupboards for a clean mug. He should really stop falling asleep on the floor. His body is not quite as young as he believes it to be.

 

Hoshi meows again, but this time flexes a claw into Soonyoung's already tattered pajama pant leg with murderous intent. He sighs, because he cannot afford to sacrifice yet _another_ pair of pants, and because he really managed to raise the brattiest cat in the entire neighborhood. Hoshi looks up at him with the widest of hazel eyes, feigning innocence until the very end.

 

"Geez," Soonyoung laughs, and bends down to pat her on the head. He peels back a can of gourmet tuna and places it into her bowl. "I was only joking, you know. I'd never not feed you."

 

His only version of thanks is the excited smacking of teeth along ceramic, Hoshi gobbling down every last bit of her breakfast. Soonyoung does the same with his coffee, after he quickly makes his way to the bathroom to clean up a bit.

 

He is in the middle of battling his toaster— he took a little longer in the shower than he had expected, and by the time he had made his way out, it was starting to catch on fire— when his landline begins to ring where it sits on the coffee table. The sound of such piercing urgent trills so early in the morning makes Soonyoung frown. No one ever really calls him, unless it is Jihoon's biweekly check-in to make sure Soonyoung has not accidentally killed himself yet.

 

Soonyoung is also in the habit of not giving people his phone number, because he is unbelievably clueless with machinery and because he would rather die than admit that he does not know how to do something. So. There is that as well.

 

"Good morning neighbor," Seokmin hums through the phone. Smug, even this early in the morning. Unbelievable.

 

"What do you want," Soonyoung says.

 

Seokmin clucks his tongue. "You should be nicer to me. Karma is most definitely a thing, and it _will_ bite you in the ass."

 

"I'll believe you and your karmic superstitions. One day. When they convince me that they're worth putting stock in."

 

"You're a funny man, Kwon Soonyoung. You sell old things and their stories and charm other people into buying romantic pasts, but you won't believe in karma?" Seokmin is smiling. Soonyoung is very sure of it, even though he cannot see it. Seokmin's smiles work like that; one can feel the wattage miles apart.

  
"Stop smiling."

 

"I was not."

 

"Liar."

 

"You wound me, Soonyoung." Seokmin makes a pained noise in the back of his throat. Soonyoung wonders where he learned his theatrics from, and then realizes. Seokmin got it from him.

 

"Why did you call me?" He repeats, refraining from actively frowning at his receiver. He forgets that people can’t see him when they’re talking through the telephone.

 

"Oh!" Seokmin says, as if the reason for his call had slipped from his mind until now. "Right. Take another look at your clock, genius."

 

Soonyoung turns to look at the thing above his mantle when Seokmin mentions it.

 

"Oh crap," he sighs. "I'm late, aren't I?"

 

Seokmin’s reply is utterly too ecstatic. "Yup."

 

Soonyoung sits there for a bit, stunned into disbelief— he cannot believe that he overslept, _again_ , and had not realized it— before he realizes he should get moving before time moves forward any more.

 

"See you in a few!" comes Seokmin's voice, tinny and metallic, just before Soonyoung slams down the receiver and springs into action.

 

It does not take long for him to toss on clothes; today he decides on a sort of outfit way out of his comfort zone, because it feels like a kind of day where he can be like this. Soonyoung gets this devilish urge sometimes. Call it is his Gemini tendencies.

 

His shirt is a maroon striped button-up that dips down into a sharp v, and the belt that he slides to keep up his ripped-at-the-knees impulsively bought black skinny jeans is made of purely metal chains. He slips on a ring for good measure, and after a couple moments of staring at it laying there on his dresser, a silver bracelet. There is no one for him to impress, but he bought all this jewelry at a garage sale a couple years ago, and he figures now is a good time as any to finally put them to good use.

 

 _Brave choice_ , Seokmin yells out at him as Soonyoung barrels down the street and opens up _Lilili Yabbay,_ apologizing profusely to the handful of townspeople who decided they were going to wait outside.

 

Soonyoung wishes to maintain professionalism, so he waits until they shuffle into the shop before shooting Seokmin a discreet middle finger before succumbing to his guilt and mouthing his thanks.

 

Seokmin just bares that cheery smile of his and waves eagerly from across the street.

 

Besides the morning incident, Soonyoung settles into routine pretty easily. Mondays always bring in the elderly and the kids, both of whom have little to do on a summer morning, and the shop is always clamorous well before noon. He makes several sales, takes extra care with packaging them before sending the objects on their way with their new owners. By afternoon though, the summer haze has all but swallowed the town whole, and the disgusting heat forces everyone to take shelter in their homes, or within their shops.

 

The flow of customers ends up coming to a trickle, the street nearly empty under the harsh shine of the sun, and so Seokmin ends up in _Lilili Yabbay_ while on his break. His dirt-streaked fingers trail a path up and down the bookcase, recently restocked, thanks to a delivery from Chan earlier in the day. Soonyoung resists the urge to swat Seokmin's fingers away like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. He just cleaned that shelf, for goodness' sake.

 

He puts his foot down when Seokmin alights on a white vase, eyes sparkling with delight.

 

"If you're going to touch my things with your dirty hands, you gremlin," Soonyoung grumbles, placing down his trashy romance novel, earmarking the page, "at least buy something."

 

"Sorry," Seokmin has the decency to look ashamed at this, and looks down at his hands as if they are alien to him. "I didn't know they were this bad."

 

"Yeah," Soonyoung laughs. "You're used to it 'cause you live in a trash heap. We civilized people go about life a little differently, up here."

 

"My room's not that bad!" Seokmin protests, but Soonyoung does not miss the sheepish grin that comes and the grudging _anymore_ that follows. Ever since Seokmin and Chan decided to room together, the latter's always been on the former's case about cleaning up after himself. Some common fucking human decency, Chan calls it.

 

"Yeah, yeah," Soonyoung waves his hand at Seokmin, mirth seeping into his voice. "I'll believe it when I see it, buddy."

 

Seokmin opens his mouth to argue, but the chime of a bell interrupts him. A man steps into the store, sun-flushed and looking a bit frazzled, tufts of rumpled black hair sticking out in various places. He is handsome in a sort of way that screams he belongs on movie screens. A star, Soonyoung thinks. Unreal.

 

He immediately shoves his trashy romance novel to the side. This is _way_ more interesting than the scoundrel Adrien and his current obsession-slash-courtship with Lady Stephanie.

 

"Oh, hello, there sir," Soonyoung all but purrs. He steadfastly ignores the horrified look Seokmin gives him. "Welcome to _Lilili Yabbay_. How can I help you?"

 

At this, the man starts, as if he had been staring at Soonyoung in a daze — Soonyoung can't be too sure though, he was shamelessly admiring him in the first place — and begins to fumble through his messenger bag.

 

With a small _aha!_ , he procures a scrap of paper and begins to squint profusely at it.

 

"Sorry," he mutters, voice worn deep and rugged from misuse. "I didn't bring my glasses with me today, and my colleague writes just so damned _small_ , sometimes, I—"

 

Soonyoung boldly maneuvers around the counter that separates them and plucks it out of his hand.

 

"You're looking for Willem de Kooning’s _Door to the River_ ,” he begins triumphantly. The exuberance begins to fade, dying as he reaches the end of the sentence, when Soonyoung realizes just exactly what this man is seeking.

 

“Yeah!" It should be unnatural for one's eyes to sparkle in the manner that the stranger's does when in a state of excitement. For some reason, there is a roiling in Soonyoung’s stomach, and for the life of him, he cannot tell if it is because of proximity to such a beautiful man, or if it is because the piece that he wants is the very one Soonyoung cannot find himself letting go of.

 

"It's that one!” he says excitedly, finger extending to point past Soonyoung. He cranes his head to look, heart already knowing which piece the man is talking about. There stands a hole in his chest where the thing should be, and Soonyoung hates how it easily affects him, even after all this time.

 

“Yeah,” Soonyoung says after a short while, throat suddenly dry. “That’s not for sale.”

 

“But,” the man crooks his head, “you’ve got a ‘For Sale’ sign on it.”

 

Soonyoung not so subtly hooks off the thing — he must’ve thrown it on there when he was in the middle of rearranging the store and forgotten to take it back off — and tosses it onto the counter.

 

“And now I don’t,” he says, not unkindly. “And so it’s not. For sale, that is.”

 

The man furrows his brows. “What kind of establishment is this?”

 

“A perfectly respectable one,” Soonyoung grins at this, and fondly rubs the fading varnish of the counter. “I’ve had her for about two to three years, now.”

 

The man pinches the bridge of his nose, nearly taking out his own eyes in his clear exasperation.

 

“Listen,” the man says, after about a minute of alternating between deep sighs, frantic mutterings, and excessive nose pinchings. Soonyoung watches him do so with mild interest. It’s cute. He has never seen a grown man sulk before.

 

“I just— I just need this one piece for the exhibit we’re opening later in a couple months, and that’s the one. I need that one.”

 

He looks defeated, absolutely frazzled at the end of his wits. Soonyoung clucks his tongue sympathetically. He’s been there.

 

The man slides a business card across the counter. “I’ve got a hefty budget. Name your price, and I’m sure we can work something out.”

 

Soonyoung blinks. “But she’s not for sale.”

 

The man — _Jeon Wonwoo,_ the card reads — blinks back at him. “But I want it.”

 

Soonyoung looks at him, slightly offended. If Wonwoo has the audacity to barge in here and ask for something so dear to Soonyoung, at least respect it.

 

“ _Her_ ,” Wonwoo hastily corrects, then frowns, as if he is not entirely sure why he had changed his pronoun usage.

 

“Well,” Soonyoung says, in a voice he usually reserves for kids who fret when they don’t get what they want exactly when they want it, “Sometimes you can’t always have the things you want. The world works like this, if you haven’t figured it out yet.” He purses his lips, sweeps his gaze up and down Wonwoo’s frame. “Something tells me you’re old enough to know this already.”

 

Wonwoo lets out a mangled sound that is halfway between exasperation and belief, running his hands through his choppy bangs.

 

Soonyoung snorts before he can help it. “Very mature,” he says, when Wonwoo affixes him with a wild glare. Wonwoo has nice eyes, when they’re not shooting daggers into the pits of his soul, Soonyoung muses. Shiny, black, full of emotion. He thinks he could get lost in them, if he had the time (or the patience).

 

“And you’re sure there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?” Wonwoo asks. There’s desperation in there somewhere, mixed in with a quiet terror that sends the words spiraling out of his mouth funny, a man already resigned to his fate.

 

Soonyoung makes an apologetic face. He feels bad, he does, but there isn’t any price that would ever be able separate him from that painting. There really isn’t a price on memories held close to the heart.

 

“I see,” Wonwoo just says, shoulders slumping in defeat. He looks forlornly at the painting, then back at Soonyoung. His mouth opens, like there’s a phrase begging to be let out of there, but last minute he thinks better of it, and sighs, long-suffering. “I’ll be back.”

 

“I’ll be here,” Soonyoung says, corners of his mouth tilting upwards amusement. “Still going to tell you no, though.”

 

Wonwoo pinches his features tight, then settles for a tight-lipped smile. “People have told me I have a very persistent personality. I can be _very_ annoying. Very stubborn. Very tenacious.”

 

“Well, luckily for you, people have said the same thing about me.” Soonyoung tips his head as the other man wraps a hand around the handle of the door. “I’ll be waiting, Wonwoo. Perhaps you’ve just met your match.”

 

The door closes shut, bell ringing, but not before Wonwoo’s smile slips into something more, something a bit more freeing and a bit more genuine. Soonyoung’s interest rears its head at the sight of it. He watches Wonwoo walk away in a flurry, spindly limbs tucking various things into his messenger bag, hands fumbling for a phone.

 

“So,” Seokmin begins conversationally, smile only growing wider as he leans his elbows on the table, chin resting in his palms. “he was cute.”

 

“Shut up,” Soonyoung grumbles, and returns to his trashy romance book. The adventures of Adrien and Lady Stephanie seem a lot duller now, and he sighs as he tosses the novel aside, unable to delve back into the land of make-believe. “He was also annoying. That cancels out everything attractive about him. Don’t you have more important things to do than poke around in my life?”

 

“Yeah,” Seokmin shrugs, watching the way Soonyoung’s eyes linger on Wonwoo’s scrawny form just a little bit longer, until he turns the corner and disappears from view, “but what’s the fun in that?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The thing is, Wonwoo was not lying when he says that he can be tenacious. Only it is not in a way that Soonyoung envisions. The boy lingers in his mind for a long while after, dreaming of red cupid lips and an intense gaze, but turns to release the fantasy towards the sky when days pass without seeing Wonwoo step foot inside his shop again.

 

(Soonyoung has a horrible habit of falling in love with people in passing, dreaming about delicate fingers, nice bodies, boys to come home to. It is the romantic in him, Seokmin says. Jeonghan used to tell him it was his traitorous heart. He figures it is a healthy mix of the two.)

 

“You again,” Soonyoung says the following Wednesday — just when he had managed to scrape all of what remained of Jeon Wonwoo and their five minute encounter out of his brain — eyes flashing with recognition.

 

This time, Wonwoo is more shy, and a bit awkward. He schools his features into a face that’ll be more friendly, Soonyoung thinks, or at least he tries to, but all that comes out is an awkward grimace. Soonyoung refrains from smiling at him. It’ll encourage this sort of behavior, and Soonyoung will be completely screwed then, because this is the sort of the thing that he finds very endearing.

 

“Yeah, it’s me.”

 

Wonwoo affixes Soonyoung with a cool stare. Soonyoung stops what he’s doing and returns it, because he will not lose, damnit. The brat is a good half a head taller than him.

 

“The painting’s not for sale.” Soonyoung says shortly, cooly, then returns promptly to what caught his attention before. A hand comes up to wave Wonwoo away dismissively. “You can leave now. Go back to whencever you came.”

 

Wonwoo visibly grits his teeth, like it pains him to say this. Soonyoung feels a stirring of delight in his bones at the obvious chafing; one of his favorite pastimes is making other people feel uncomfortably out of their depth.

 

“I’m not here for the painting.”

 

At this, Soonyoung pauses and peers up at him, mouth affixed into a wry grin. “You’re an awful liar, you know.” He makes a commotion behind the counter, pulling items out of drawers and shoving them back in when he realizes it’s not the specific thing he’s looking for. He can feel Wonwoo’s eyes on him the entire time as he works. It’s unnerving, to feel yourself the center of someone else’s attention, for someone to be utterly devoted to everything that you do, even if it is for a moment.

 

Attention, Soonyoung thinks, trying very hard not to tremble under the weight of Wonwoo's stare, is something that Soonyoung hasn't quite had for a long, long time.

 

“And you’re straightforward,” Wonwoo says, after a beat too long.

 

“I make it a habit to tell people what’s wrong with them up front.” Soonyoung corrects. “It saves a lot of time, in the long run.” He returns to making a ruckus behind the counter, huffing when he can’t get something particularly right, cheeks poofing out in frustration, and startles when he realizes Wonwoo’s still looking at him.

 

He says as much. “Oh, you’re still here.”

 

“That I am,” Wonwoo grins. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

 

Soonyoung flushes scarlet.

 

“I talk to myself out loud,” Soonyoung says defensively, not too sure why he feels the need to explain himself to a stranger. His mouth plows on anyways. “Keeps me sane."

 

"Don't worry," Wonwoo tilts his head at this, lips itching to curl into a smile. "I knew you were weird the moment you refused to sell me something that had a price tag on it."

 

"Don't be ridiculous," Soonyoung frowns, straightening up. "I _told_ you I had put it there by accident. Besides, when people tell you no the first time, usually, you'd get the hint."

 

"Yeah, well," Wonwoo laughs, low and a little bit self-degrading, "I’m a little obtuse like that. Hints aren’t really my thing."

 

"So," Soonyoung starts, slowly, not all too sure where else to take the conversation, half-torn between wanting to know the reason behind his visit and wondering if it is just better to leave it alone, "what's the occasion for your visit this time, Wonwoo- _ssi_?"

 

"Please don't call me that ever again." Wonwoo crinkles his nose in distaste at this. "That makes me sound like this old stuffy man."

 

Soonyoung plucks at a packing peanut left on the counter, and tosses it into the wastebasket by his feet, looking up with a wry grin. "You haven't done much to convince me otherwise."

 

At this, Wonwoo places his hands on the counter, which sufficiently gathers Soonyoung’s attention. In a very matter of fact way, he says, "I really _really_ want that piece for the exhibition, Kwon Soonyoung, and I would like a chance to convince you to sell it to me."

 

"Her," Soonyoung corrects, mainly out of habit, then blinks at the words once they settle in his brainspace.

 

It looks painful for Wonwoo to swallow his words and to correct himself, but he does it anyways, mouth twisting into a wry grin and an acknowledging tilt of his head. "Her."

 

"And just how," Soonyoung says, playing into this sudden shift in the atmosphere, leaning entirely into Wonwoo's space, "do you think you'll achieve this, _Wonwoo-ssi_?"

 

Wonwoo is so close Soonyoung can count the tiny eyelashes framing very expansive eyes, see the tiny freckles and scars dotting the wide expanse of his cheeks. His nostrils flare just a bit, and a muscle in his jaw jumps, clenching and unclenching, before he deliberately tilts his head down so that their gazes meet. Soonyoung feels like there is something inside him lighting on fire. For the first time in a long time, he thinks he wouldn't mind burning.

 

"Let me take you out," Wonwoo says, but it comes out more of a rumble, one that Soonyoung can feel in the expanse of his chest thanks to their proximity. His insistence makes Soonyoung a little bit weak in the knees. "Just give me a week of your time. Seven days. I promise you I'll make it worthwhile."

 

“Oh?” Soonyoung has to smile at this. “Are you propositioning me now?”

 

Wonwoo flushes and ducks his head, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, completely at contrast with his previous statement. Soonyoung wonders just how many people Wonwoo's managed to charm in the entire course of his lifetime. The list does not seem to be very long.

 

But then again, Wonwoo seems like the sort of boy you find yourself falling for despite all these things, because of all these things, and so Soonyoung holds his tongue, reins in his curiosity, and finds himself sticking out a hand.

 

"Alright." Even Wonwoo looks surprised. Soonyoung, under all the chaos that he is feeling, finds himself startled too. There is something, he thinks, about Wonwoo. He doesn't know what it is yet, but he finds himself wanting to figure it out.

 

Wonwoo shakes his hand firmly, just as Soonyoung says, "I'll give you a week to change my mind, Jeon Wonwoo."

 

The man in question leans in quite close, with a dastardly handsome look about his face that Soonyoung decides is absolutely dangerous. He smirks. "Oh, trust me, Soonyoung. It'll be my absolute pleasure."

 

Society dictates that it is unnecessary to stay in someone else’s space for prolonged periods of time, so Soonyoung backs away from Wonwoo with a smattering of blush across the tops of his cheeks and whirls around, busying himself with taking inventory he’s already taken a hundred times before. Wonwoo then decides to reach over with his stupidly spindly long arms and pluck Soonyoung's phone out of his back pocket and inputs his number into the damned thing.

 

"No password?" Wonwoo raises at eyebrow at him. Soonyoung is just relieved he does not question the SHINee lockscreen.

 

Soonyoung huffs and refuses to give him any other reaction other than, "I haven't got anything to hide." He attempts to sound surly, but he is sure that he vaguely resembles a pouting child. "Have you?"

 

Wonwoo cheekily pats his head and gives Soonyoung his phone back. "Don't worry about it, Soonyoung." He turns around to head out the shop. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

 

"Your one week starts today," Soonyoung calls after him sullenly, just to be difficult.

 

"That's fine by me! I won't need a week, you know," is Wonwoo's response, and Soonyoung has to stop himself from smiling at that — at least until Wonwoo strolls out of sight, and so that Soonyoung can actually take the time to properly digest all that's happened to him in the span of a couple minutes.

 

After that particularly disastrous life choice, Soonyoung spends his time nearly slicing himself open, distracted to pieces. He wonders what exactly Wonwoo intends to do to change his mind, and ends up nearly taking out two fingers in the middle of unpacking a coffee table that Chan had dropped off in the morning. He wonders if he should text Wonwoo first — because how _else_ are they going to get talking — and promptly drops a box of ornaments on his feet. He spends another hour cleaning up the shards, and half the time he nearly clutches the glass too hard while remembering the feel of Wonwoo's face so close to his.

 

Soonyoung nearly spits at the image that stares back when he catches a sight of himself in the mirror, hair a bit disheveled, hastily placed band-aids littering his arms and legs. He's a righteous mess. All this for a _boy_. After that, he splashes some water onto his face and is determined to not let something so trivial distract him from his ordinary

 

"Get yourself together," Soonyoung grips the side of the sink. "He's not even that cute, Soonyoung, and you know it." A lie, but one should always feed themselves lies in situations like this. He supposes that daydreaming about the scar on Wonwoo's upper left eyelid is not off-limits. It is the only Wonwoo-related thing he will allow himself to fixate on for the rest of the day.

 

("So? What did Mr. Handsome want?" Seokmin dips into the shop around lunch, eyebrows waggling ferociously. Soonyoung tells him that if he continues to do that, his eyebrows will grow wings and fly away like birds. Seokmin tells him that that was the sort of thing that only happens in storybooks, but he only looks half-convinced, so Soonyoung considers it a victory.)

 

The rest of the day, thankfully, passes without incident, and as he closes up, he shoots Wonwoo a cordial "hello" before he can back out of it. Though Soonyoung is a lot of things, he is not a coward. His mother did raise one — his sister — but he will not delve into that now.

 

Wonwoo's reply is almost immediate, as if he had spent the entirety of the day waiting for Soonyoung to text him, which brings a flattering warmth to his belly. They get to talking, amongst other things, and Soonyoung finds it scary how easily it is to hold a conversation with Wonwoo, and how much of their humor intersects. His last thought before sleep claims him is that it has never been this easy with anyone before, though it does not make its way towards his consciousness the next morning.

 

He wakes up to a disgruntled Hoshi, who he apparently forgot to feed last night in the middle of having his mental faculties completely rearranged by one (1) Jeon Wonwoo. She had ripped up his favorite couch pillow in retaliation, and sits primly in its remains as she stares up at him defiantly when he finds her smack dab in the middle of the living room.

 

"Fine," he mutters, wrangling out her dish bowl and an extra helping of her gourmet tuna, "I guess I deserved that."

 

She meows at him distastefully, and he swears she purposely lashes her tail at his shins as he scoots around her to get ready in the morning. Brat.

 

When he gets to the shop, the morning stretches into afternoon, and by then Soonyoung has sent two young ladies home with tattered books filled to the brim with other people’s words. He watches them chatter animatedly among themselves while giggling about romantic notions, blushing when the read starts to get a little raunchy.

 

“Shoo,” he smiles, fluttering his hands at them, “I can’t be caught having you two discussing such suggestible material right on my property. This is a perfectly respectable establishment, you know.”

 

They laugh goodnaturedly and walk away, hands clasped together and lugging their prizes from tote bags slung across their backs.

 

“Corrupting the youth now, aren’t you?” Seokmin’s voice sounds, chipper and bright in a way that suggests he has never known irritation in his lifetime before.

 

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Don’t you ever have a job to do?”

 

Seokmin shrugs, and gestures to the empty street. Soonyoung sticks out his tongue back at him.

 

"The people just aren't in need of flowers anymore," Seokmin clutches his heart with feigned pain. "I've been cast away, forgotten." At this, he lets out a mockery of a wail. "I've been condemned to a life with no joy. Just misery."

 

"Shut up," Soonyoung laughs. "You're scaring away potential customers with your crazy, you fool."

 

At this, someone makes their way down the cobblestone streets and ducks into Seokmin's storefront. Seokmin shoots him a look, as if to say "Ha!", to which Soonyoung promptly waves off before hissing at the florist to go help his customer. He revels in the victory one last time, doing a little wiggle that has Soonyoung giggling behind the palm of his hand.

 

The amount of times the universe has propelled Seokmin to victory over Soonyoung are far too many to count, and if Soonyoung started caring and counting now, his pride would be decimated in a matter of seconds. Besides, Seokmin is genuinely a good guy. It is, unfortunately, very hard to despise any part of his being.

 

"Wonwoo?" Seokmin says as he catches sight of a familiar face, unable to catch the surprise in his voice. Soonyoung tilts his head, peering out from his place under _Lilili Yabbay's_ stoop.

 

Wonwoo blinks, looking harried and sheepish at being caught. "You weren't supposed to be here."

 

Soonyoung looks up at the sign above him. "This is my shop. Where else am I supposed to be?"

 

"Inside it, maybe," Wonwoo grumbles. "Doing your job."

 

"Soonyoung never does his job," Seokmin inputs gleefully, like the useless wingman he is, stomping all over Soonyoung's reputation in front of a cute potential candidate for romantic entanglement. He thinks the saddest part is that Seokmin has absolutely no clue the repercussions of such a statement.

 

“It’s one of the reasons why we get along so well.” Seokmin grins. “I do all the hard work, and he just sits there and watches me. Some nights he’ll comes over and mooches off the meals I cook. Leech.”

 

“ _Really_ now,” Wonwoo says, looking entirely too intrigued for the matter.

 

“Liar,” Soonyoung seethes from across the street. “It’s the other way around, I’ll have you know.”

 

“That’s what he thinks,” Seokmin jokes, shielding his mouth with his hand, as if to be discreet. It does not work, because Soonyoung can hear every word he says. “It’s all the dust in there. I think he’s inhaled too much of it. I think it’s made him _bonkers_.”

 

“I am _not_ bonkers!” Soonyoung squawks, outraged, fists raised. They only lower because Wonwoo laughs then, full-bellied, nose scrunching. Soonyoung has never seen such a laugh before, wild and free and intoxicating. His fists unclench, his heart full of wonder at the sight, and that is when he truly knows he is in for a long ride.

 

Seokmin just smiles smugly as he rings up Wonwoo’s purchase. “That’s what all crazy people say.” _In love_ , he mouths over at Soonyoung while Wonwoo is still laughing. Soonyoung would like to melt into the ground or evaporate into thin air, whichever one is more plausible.

 

“I’m guessing these are for you.” Seokmin does not return the flowers to Wonwoo, like a normal, reputable florist would do. Instead, he crosses the street surely, and plops the bundle in Soonyoung’s arms, leaving both him and Wonwoo staring at him, mouths agape. One of these days, he is really going to kick Seokmin’s ass. Soonyoung looks at Wonwoo with what he’s sure is slight fear in his eyes. The sad thing is, Soonyoung can see the same thing reflected in Wonwoo’s gaze. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Soonyoung is penning an unfavorable Yelp review.

 

“They are,” Wonwoo affirms, trailing behind Seokmin with an amused grin.

 

“What’s the occasion?” Soonyoung asks as he leans into smell them.

 

"I'm taking you on the first date," Wonwoo says, surely, though Soonyoung catches the slight tremble of his fingers, the catch in his throat, the way his eyes dart back and forth between Soonyoung and Seokmin, as if daring to contradict him.

 

"I would like to take you on a date," Soonyoung decides to say instead, putting the flowers into a vase. "It's nicer if you ask this way. I'd also be more inclined to say yes, you know."

 

"Yes," Wonwoo tilts his head. "What you said."

 

Seokmin looks absolutely delighted that such an exchange is happening right in front of his eyes.

 

Soonyoung lets out a little laugh. “No, I think I’d like to hear you say it.”

 

“It,” Wonwoo says, this time with a little playful smile around his mouth, so that Soonyoung knows he’s taking the piss. “Joking, _joking_ !” he adds, when Soonyoung lets out a huff and an irritated, “You know, I don’t _have_ to give you this chance. I can most definitely revoke your week back right now, bastard.”

 

“I would like to take you on a date, Kwon Soonyoung.” Wonwoo repeats this time, serious, and holds out his hand. He says it softly, like he only ever intends for Soonyoung to hear the words. It sends a warm feeling through his being; he has always been a sucker for sweet talk.

 

“I’d be delighted.” Soonyoung curls his fingers into the wide expanse of Wonwoo’s palms and grins.

  


* * *

 

 

It goes on like this the day after too. And the day after that. Wonwoo stops by Seokmin’s to purchase Soonyoung a bouquet, and Soonyoung feigns that he has Important Shopkeeper Things to do while he watches Wonwoo peer over which (overpriced, though he won’t tell Seokmin that) flowers he is going to gift Soonyoung that day.

 

They go to the gardens, where Wonwoo tells him about Junhui, his colleague, who was his college roommate, and all the shenanigans that have occured in between. Junhui, Wonwoo says firmly, is the reason why they’re even here at all today.

 

He feels a little bit silly at the way his heart runs a little faster whenever he gets a peek of black hair amongst the pinks and yellows and purples, but he has not felt silly like this in a long time. He lets himself enjoy the feeling for just a little bit more.

 

It has been a long time since Soonyoung has been sought after.

 

“He’s here!” Chan exclaims excitedly, running into the shop, even though he knows that Soonyoung already knows. The bell rings crazily at the force of such an entrance.

 

“Who’s here?” Soonyoung teases, though his heart speeds up and his palms get a little clammy. He knows exactly who it is, but it is nice to pretend otherwise.

 

Chan just winks dastardly and not-so-subtly changes flips the sign over so that it reads closed, just as Wonwoo strolls in, bouquet of flowers in his hands.

 

“Have fun!” Chan yells, and sprints into the store across the street, where Seokmin is waiting with two cups of steaming tea, smile wide. He even has a table set up, in plain sight — subtlety is neither of their strong suits.

 

Soonyoung has half a mind to roll down the blinds to the store front, except that would be admitting defeat, implying that he has something to hide. There is nothing going on between him and Wonwoo, besides the fact that Wonwoo takes him out on dates and is annoyingly charming and gentlemanly and funny and all of the things that Soonyoung fancies in a significant other in order to persuade him to sell a painting he is not too sure he is ready to get rid of.

 

Soonyoung settles for fancifully cursing at the two of them in his head. Idiots. Dumb, meddling idiots.

 

He shakes his head in disbelief at their antics, tucking a smile by dipping his chin. He's not too sure if Seokmin has binoculars, and if he manages to catches the tail end of Soonyoung's grin with that thing, Soonyoung would never hear the end of it.

 

Wonwoo stops mid-stride, hesitant, hovering by the door. "Are the flowers too much? They’re too much, aren’t they." The bouquet goes limp by his side, and immediately his face turns anxious, fingers going to tangle themselves in the fabric of his sweater.

 

Soonyoung wants to smooth away the lines that mar the expanse of Wonwoo's forehead, but before he can do something that reckless, he makes a placating expression that hopefully doesn't betray the fondness he holds for Wonwoo.

 

"No, no!" Soonyoung waves his hand, moving around the counter to make his way next to Wonwoo. "I was just — Chan and Seokmin are nosy brats." They both turn to look out the window. Chan gives a giant grin and waves back shamelessly, not at all surprised at the attention. Seokmin fumbles with something black around his neck, wrangling it hastily with two hands, tossing it into the nearest potted plant.

 

"He really brought his binoculars out," Soonyoung grumbles under his breath, half surprised, half not, at the same time Wonwoo goes, "Huh?"

 

"Nothing," Soonyoung turns to peer up at Wonwoo with a wide grin. Wonwoo grows more handsome every time he sees him, he thinks, with the way that his heart is beating, shy and timid but very much urgent. Today he has a beige sweater on, his black hair styled up so that his forehead peeks out, and the collar of a white undershirt, rumpled, peeks out under it, looking utterly like a librarian. A very cute, very adorable librarian. Soonyoung is sold.

 

"Okay," Wonwoo says. There's a smile burgeoning on his face, and Soonyoung has to concentrate really hard to not let his face heat up in response. His ears don't quite make it, the tips of which burn, but it is fine. Wonwoo won't look there anyways.

 

"What's on the agenda today, Wonwoo?" Soonyoung asks, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet. He wants to pretend, in this moment, that the man is here for him, and not for something that lies in his store.

 

"I don't really have one." Wonwoo shrugs his shoulders, and hands him the bouquet of flowers after a brief awkward silence. "I just had some free time, and I just kind of wanted to see you."

 

 _Boys should not be allowed to say these kinds of things_ , Soonyoung thinks with desperation.

 

He realizes that he's standing stock still in front of Wonwoo, flowers still in his hands, and shakes himself a little before stumbling into action, pulling out a vase and throwing some water in before placing them inside. Wonwoo's hands return to the hem of his sweater. "Let me just put these in a vase and then we can, I don't know, close up shop early. I can take you to my favorite restaurant if you'd like."

 

"No, no. Don't close up just for me." Wonwoo's lips turn up pleased then, in spite of himself. "I didn't think I was that important."

 

Soonyoung blusters around this, arranging the flowers around, even though in his head he can hear Minkyung scolding him in his head about messing with her craftsmanship. "Maybe I just want to get out of working."

 

"So you'd rather take me out on a date instead of running the shop of your dreams?" Wonwoo looks positively predatory like this, a gleam in his eyes. A cat who got the cream.

 

Soonyoung splutters. "Don't think so highly of yourself, Wonwoo. I would never pass up on a chance to eat real food instead of instant ramen. You don't have to come along if you don't want to."

 

Wonwoo pulls up a chair and rests his chin on the counter. "I want to," he insists, eyes searching Soonyoung's, and yeah, he is so not ready to face that full on at three in the afternoon.

 

Soonyoung swallows, hard. He forces out a shaky smile. "Just let me finish up these last few things. Clerical stuff, you know. All that boring stuff."

 

He fiddles with things, and he can feel Wonwoo's eyes tracing over his figure gently. The weight of his gaze is not too heavy, but it is persistent, and Soonyoung can feel it all the same. He keeps his head bowed down, too afraid what he will see if he looks up.

 

Wonwoo squints at the tag of a watch sitting in a case on the counter while Soonyoung pretends he has business cleaning up something underneath it. He peers over at Soonyoung dubiously. “Is this for real? Did this really come from an old grandfather who served in five wars? Is that stain _blood_?”

 

Soonyoung shoots him a dastardly wink, enjoying the way Wonwoo’s cheeks flame, before shaking his head no. “It makes for a more interesting buy, though.” He sighs dreamily, clasping his hands together. “People sure do love stories.”

 

Wonwoo gapes at him. “You’re scamming people.”

 

Soonyoung flushes and pulls up to his full height. Wonwoo snorts, assumedly because it is not very intimidating. Whenever Soonyoung does this, Seokmin always tells him he looks like an irritated hamster. Even drawn up to his tallest, Wonwoo could still most definitely rest his chin on top of the Soonyoung’s head, and easily at that. Soonyoung files this piece of information for later, when he can sufficiently digest it alone and promptly dissolve into shambles.

 

"Am not." Soonyoung huffs out. "I really did buy it off of an old ahjussi who was a wartime veteran. He never specified what that stain was, but I really liked the watch, so I got it for a little under the asking price. I just filled the gaps in between."

 

"You're awful," Wonwoo laughs, but he doesn't mean it, not really. He places the wristwatch back gingerly, taking care to gently fold the worn leather. Soonyoung watches Wonwoo as he does so, and realizes he is someone who understands that all things have a story, whether you know it or not, and that it's only right to treat those kinds of things with respect.

 

"I can't argue with that," Soonyoung says, laughing as he shuts the register and puts away his record book, wagging a finger at Wonwoo. "That's true."

 

He busies himself a little bit more, tidying the shop, until he ends up at the door, having run out of things to do and things to distract himself from the very daunting, very handsome man sitting on a chair, waiting for him to whisk him away.

 

"Well?" Soonyoung grins, hand on the doorknob. "Are you ready to have the _best_ , mind-blowing experience of your sad, little miserable life, Jeon Wonwoo?"

 

Wonwoo heaves a little sigh, but the smile is very much there as he gets up and makes his way towards Soonyoung, hand outstretched. "Propositioning me, are you?" At Soonyoung's outraged squeak, his smile only grows bigger as he tips his head slightly. "I'm offended that you think so highly of my social life—"

 

"You don't have one." Soonyoung interrupts, dead serious. "I've never been more sure of a fact in my life."

 

Wonwoo shakes his head fondly. "Just lead the way, Soonyoung, and I'll follow."

 

Soonyoung takes him to his favorite place, a tiny restaurant hidden by larger stores that have been bought out by restaurant chains. It has a bunch of dishes that remind him of home, and although there are a lot of places that are relatively cheaper, all the food is made with painstaking care and lots of love, which is hard to put a price on, Soonyoung thinks.

 

There is a lull in the conversation in between bites, so Soonyoung takes advantage and asks the question that has been plaguing him often these days. He bites his lip. “Can I ask you a question?”

 

“Sure,” Wonwoo finishes chewing, swallows, and gestures with his fork. “Shoot.”

 

“Why do you want that piece so bad?” Soonyoung wonders. “Like, aren’t there a billion more interesting works? _Door to the River_ isn’t exactly the most riveting art piece out there. It kind of looks like someone slapped on colors and called it a day.”

 

“That’s true,” Wonwoo laughs. “Junhui always tells me that his three year old niece could do better.”

 

“But?” Soonyoung prompts. There is a but hidden in there. Soonyoung has been around long enough to figure that out.

 

“But,” Wonwoo acknowledges, with a sip of his drink, “there’s just something about it.” He leans forward, a little bit tipsy, a little more loose, the fringe of his bangs hanging over the tops of his brows. His eyes are shiny and the bridge of his nose is dusted slightly pink, and he looks like a little kid about to divulge the biggest, dirtiest secret in the entire world.

 

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

 

Soonyoung stares across over at Wonwoo, who has this giant grin on his face while he gesticulates wildly. If Soonyoung’s being honest, he is not listening; he stopped paying attention the moment Wonwoo opened his mouth. He is, instead, watching the way enrapture sneaks across Wonwoo’s face, bright and lovely and fantastic, and the way his whole expression seems to lighten his entire being.

 

Were gravity not a thing, Soonyoung thinks Wonwoo would be floating among the stars by now. He takes a quick look around to see if anyone else is blinded too, and realizes that it is only him enraptured by this boy, who has suddenly become the sun in Soonyoung’s universe when he wasn’t looking.

 

Wonwoo’s looking at him now expectantly, still unnervingly effervescent. It takes a while for Soonyoung to shake himself out of his and fire a weak smile back.

 

(He realizes he hasn’t felt like this in a long time.)

  


* * *

 

 

“So, Soonyoung, what’s with you and Wonwoo?” Chan asks innocently, setting the forks down at the table with a small clink. They’re at Seokmin and Chan’s apartment for dinner, because Chan had gotten a raise and Soonyoung is never one to pass on parties. Besides, they're loads of fun. He has learned the older you get the less you tend to celebrate things — something about the dreariness of The Real World, according to Jihoon. Jihoon’s someone who has actually never known fun in his entire life, so Soonyoung thinks the statistic is a little bit flawed.

 

"Yeah," Seokmin grins. "Do you have something important to tell us? Like," And at this he elbows Chan, smiling into the palm of his hand, "relationship status important?"

 

Soonyoung looks at the both of them blankly. "No?" He frowns. "Should I have something important to tell you?"

 

"I told you he wasn't going to say anything. Soonyoung's denser than a bag of bricks," Chan grumbles to Seokmin, though it's loud enough for Soonyoung to hear.

 

"Hey," Soonyoung protests. "I'm not _that_ dense. I'm as thick as one brick, tops. Two, if you really want to push it."

 

Seokmin and Chan pause what they're doing, and turn towards him with looks of disbelief sprawled across their faces in tandem.

 

"You guys have _got_ to stop doing that," Soonyoung complains. "It's creepy, you know, how much you guys are in sync."

 

Seokmin sticks out his tongue. "You're just jealous."

 

"Of _what_?"

 

"Not everyone can be as cool as us, Soonie, it's alright. Your jealousy is valid." Chan murmurs, fake comfort sloshed all over the phrase, as he ladles the steaming food onto a serving platter. Soonyoung narrows his eyes and barely refrains from tossing a car of beer at him.

 

Seokmin walks over to the counter, where Soonyoung had dropped everything in dramatic fashion after barging into the apartment just a few minutes prior. There are moments, Soonyoung's sure, that Seokmin and Chan regret giving him the spare key.

 

He dutifully hangs up Soonyoung's coat, but not before making a soft sound of curiosity as he  pulls out a bouquet of flowers. Soonyoung closes his eyes before he can see the thing that's been haunting him ever since the afternoon. He has already spent too much time looking at them — a confection of yellow daffodils and white carnations, wrapped in lavender — from the moment they had shown up on the steps of _Lilili Yabbay_ , after his lunch break.

  
"Hey," Seokmin says, surprised. "I sold this earlier." Soonyoung doesn't even have to look at him to hear the smile in his voice. The damned thing is just _that_ loud. "To Wonwoo."

 

“He’s trying to destroy me,” Soonyoung wails in response, fingers clutching his face. At this point, he's not all too sure who he is trying to convince. “He’s playing the long game, that bastard.”

 

“Wonwoo would break himself trying to hurt anyone,” Chan says, rolling his eyes. “Someone needs to get some more food in him. Boy’s a bag of bones.”

 

“And besides,” Seokmin says, a devilish grin rising onto his face, “I don’t think people who plot your doom usually get each other hundred dollar bouquets from the incredibly handsome florist across the street.” He lifts the flowers out from the basket and gently places them in a vase he’s dug out from deep, deep within their cabinets. He makes a pleasant humming sound, mischievous and light all at once, like he knows something that Soonyoung doesn't.

 

It’s been a long time since any of them have had suitors. Mainly because Seokmin likes Chan (and Chan likes Seokmin back!) but they’re too painfully oblivious to do anything about it, and because Soonyoung’s just an idiot who’d rather do things like start up an antiquities store, choosing to drown in debt rather than actual feelings. You know, the usual problems that seem to plague the youth these days. Damned millennials.

 

“Wonwoo was most definitely dropped on his head as a baby,” Soonyoung declares instead, unbelievably flustered. His ears are burning again. “It’s not my fault he doesn’t understand the inner workings of society.”

 

“Or,” Seokmin says, one eye closed, framing the vase with two hands like he’s pretending to take a picture, “and stay with me here, it might be something absurd for you to imagine, but? Maybe he’s actually into you.”

 

Chan grumbles and swats at Seokmin’s hands as he grabs a different vase to put the flowers in. “Jesus, you’re as color blind as ever, aren’t you.” Seokmin laughs, and lets it happen. He’s never had an eye for interior design. Or any sort of design, really. They like to call him pattern-deaf. It’s mildly concerning considering that Seokmin is a florist — arranging bouquets should be his thing, really — but Soonyoung supposes that’s what his assistants are for.

 

“I’m just good at planting things,” Seokmin protests, when Chan flicks him over the head. “I help things grow. Minkyung and Eunwoo are the ones good at everything else.”

 

Soonyoung watches them go with an ache in his heart. Sometimes, when he’s late at night and feeling particularly lonely, when all he has next to him is Hoshi (not that there’s anything wrong with her, god, he loves that cat to death), he finds that he misses it. Having someone else to lean on, or talk to, or just sit down and revel in each other’s company.

 

The next breath he lets out is a bit shaky, a bit watery, and that immediately puts Seokmin and Chan on alert, telling them to tread carefully. He forgets just how good they are at reading in between the lines, and just like that Seokmin's propelling the conversation in a different direction, prodding some information out of Chan about his raise, and it gets a little easier to breathe. Gets a little easier to ignore the keening in his chest, the hope that Wonwoo kindles in there, somewhere deep in the recesses of his being.

 

The rest of dinner passes without a single mention of Wonwoo, though the cloud of him most definitely lingers. Soonyoung scowls into his beans. The other man has still managed to plague him on his off days, in his supposed resting hours, like a despicable virus. Or a fungus, Soonyoung thinks grimly, stabbing his fork into some mashed potatoes. A cute, endearing fungus that has grown on him. Unfortunately.

 

Seokmin and Chan smile as they tell him tales, though Soonyoung can't tell about what — these days, they're always smiling, and it would be cute, except Soonyoung thinks they should really cut all this flirting out and get up the courage to kiss each other just once — update him on their lives, not that there's much to catch up on. It is nice though, he'll admit, to be in somebody else's company, people that _aren't_ Wonwoo, people that don't make his head spin and send his heart into a tizzy.

 

He tries his best to enjoy the night, and ignore the texts sitting on his phone, heavy in his pocket.

 

 **jeon wonwoo, 6.18pm:** did u like the flowers? i left them outside the store, but now that i think about it i really should've given them to u myself

 **jeon wonwoo, 6.18pm:** did someone steal them. someone stole them didn’t they

 **jeon wonwoo, 6.18pm:** im an awful suitor

 **jeon wonwoo, 6.19pm:** they were really pretty. bundles of white and yellow

 **jeon wonwoo, 6.19pm:** i thought of u when i saw them

 

Soonyoung also tries his best to ignore the many stomach-churning phrases within those few lines, like the fact that Wonwoo called himself Soonyoung's suitor — what does that even _mean_? — or the fact that daffodils mean new beginnings, or that white carnations in particular can mean pure love or good luck, whichever the sender intends them to be. He googled the last few things, and googled it again, just to be sure.

 

Spoiler alert: he fails utterly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Soonyoung finds himself as unmoored as the fog that rolls into town in the mornings after that, his mind a labyrinth that he can hardly find respite from. He spends more days with Wonwoo, which, in retrospect, is an awful idea because of the burgeoning crush that begins to take root in his chest, but he can’t find the strength in him to say no to the other man. He is, in fact, being charmed out of his pants, only with none of the sex, which even more unfair in his book.

 

Soonyoung ends up wailing over the line to Jihoon about the situation, who declares an intervention, if only to get Soonyoung to “stop bitching and strap up”, and promptly books all the travel and airfare. Soonyoung thinks that’s an awfully weird way to say _I need a vacation_ , but he needs all the help he can get with his Wonwoo problem, so he does not say anything otherwise.

 

On Thursday, about two days from the end of Wonwoo’s week, Jihoon enters the shop, tugging his ridiculously large hat down low and grumbling.

 

“Tacky tourist day was yesterday,” Soonyoung hums, pausing whatever he’s doing to watch his best friend walk in his store with a growing grin on his face. It is bizarre, he thinks, to see two separate parts of his world collide like this, to see the tiny blonde surrounded by a store that is very much Soonyoung’s own. He finds that he quite likes the look of it.

 

“Shut it,” Jihoon frowns. “I didn’t know the sun was this strong here.”

 

“The sun is bright everywhere, Jihoonie.” Soonyoung smirks. “You just never get out of your cave long enough for you to feel it.”

 

“My cave is comfortable,” Jihoon grumbles. “At least I can die in peace there, not surrounded by fumbling idiots.” At this he sends a weary look across the street, where Seokmin is not so subtly trying to peer into the shop, curiosity evident on his face.

 

“He means well,” Soonyoung says apologetically. “He’s just a bit… much.”

 

Jihoon makes a _pfft_ sound, watching as Seokmin straightens up and waves energetically at the both of them, not at all worried that he’d been caught. “Doesn’t he have a job to do?”

 

“I keep asking him that too.” Soonyoung scrunches his nose. “He never quite answers my question.” He turns to Jihoon with a growing grin when he realizes that there is a redness in the other boy’s cheeks despite being inside an air-conditioned store. The sun is already taking its toll on its next victim.

 

“What brings you here, stranger?”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Jihoon mutters irritably, tossing his backpack onto the counter with a relieved sigh, rubbing at his shoulders. “I’ve seen you naked too many times to count.”

 

“Of course,” Soonyoung waggles his eyebrows suggestively as he gestures to himself. “There’s _no_ way you could keep your hands off this body.”

 

“Gross. Don’t give anyone any ideas, you fool.” Jihoon reaches into the candy bowl and plucks out a lollipop. “You just had an aversion to clothes when you were younger. It was a ‘ _phase’_.”

 

Soonyoung grins again at the tone in his voice, acknowledging the phrase with several fingers guns. A teenaged Soonyoung was a suggestible one, and he was as fickle as the wind, changing between interests and ideas and habits so much that he thinks that he gave his poor parents whiplash trying to keep up with all the changes.

 

“That’s very true.” Soonyoung clicks his tongue, trying his best to tamp down his smile again. He forgets, sometimes, just how different it is to have someone to talk to on the phone, and how it feels when they’re actually here in the flesh.

 

Jihoon notices anyway. “Stop smiling at me like that. People are going to think you actually like me, or something.”

 

“But I do!”

 

“Bleugh,” Jihoon pulls out the lollipop to glare at it, like it manages to personally offend him by merely existing. It isn’t a new look though, because a lot of things manage to personally offend Jihoon by simply existing. Soonyoung should know, he’s one of these things. “Cherry.” He sticks it back in anyways, chewing on it.

 

“You’re going to break your teeth if you keep doing that, you know.” Soonyoung points out.

 

“I’m going to break _your_ teeth if you keep on doing that, you know,” Jihoon quips back.

 

“Doing _what_ ?” Soonyoung asks incredulously.  


“Being you,” Jihoon narrows his eyes, taking out the lollipop to gesture at all of Soonyoung. “You know,” Jihoon shrugs, “Annoying. Headass. An all-around dumbfuck. How’s that going for you, by the way?”

 

“It’s been just swell,” Soonyoung says pompously, oozing with sarcasm.

 

And just like that, they both crack up, laughing like nothing’s really changed between them. And nothing really has. Sure, even though there’s been an ex-fiance, a couple ex-boyfriends, new jobs, new life opportunities — underneath it all, they’re still undeniably, Soonyoung and Jihoon. That is just the way they are. It is how they will always be.

 

Soonyoung catches up with Jihoon — Jihoon, just recently got rid of a significant other but adopted two new cats in the process; Soonyoung, no significant other, still the same cat — late until the afternoon stretches long, the sun shining heavily in the sky, until his travels catch up with him and Jihoon gives off a tentative yawn. Soonyoung apologizes for being such a bad host, but Jihoon waves him off with a laugh and tells him that it’s okay. It has been a while that they’ve seen each other, longer than the either of them have intended.

 

Soonyoung gives Jihoon the keys to his apartment, and bribes Chan to lead him there.

 

“Keep yourself comfortable, but don’t mess up my apartment too bad, yeah?” He says as he tosses Jihoon the keys.

 

“I’m betting that your apartment’s already fucked up,” Jihoon shakes his head fondly. “You’re allergic to keeping things orderly.” On a normal day, that would be true, but Soonyoung had stress cleaned the night before, mostly to keep his mind off of Wonwoo and to keep from double texting him too much. He won’t tell that to Jihoon though, and just let him assume that time has done Soonyoung some good instead. It is nice to pretend that he is a functional adult sometimes.

 

“Can I grab a beer out of the fridge, at least?” Chan grumbles, as he leads Jihoon out the door. “It’s hot as hell today.”

 

“You’re a child,” Soonyoung gasps, affronted. “You will do no such thing. Your parents would _kill_ me.”

 

“I am twenty three.” Chan says, tired, as if this is something he has to continually explain (which he does, to Soonyoung, because as he’s said before, Chan is a child, a mere boy, and Soonyoung will not accept anything otherwise). “And my parents haven’t cared what I get up to ever since I left for college.”

 

“Yes, you can have a beer,” Jihoon interrupts before Soonyoung can add anything else on, shooting him a pointed glare.

 

“I like him better than you already,” Chan declares, as they leave.

 

“Of course you do,” Jihoon says, smug, patting Chan on the shoulder.

 

“Traitor!” Soonyoung calls after them.

 

“Who’s a traitor?” Wonwoo asks, amused, popping his head in. As per tradition for the last couple days, he has another bundle of flowers hidden behind his back, and Soonyoung has to fight the urge to whack him over the head with it at Wonwoo’s poor timing.

 

“Me, apparently,” Chan quips, but now he’s smiling, and so is Jihoon apparently, because smiling is a thing people do now when encountering Wonwoo. Soonyoung not-so-subtly pouts, because that used to be just _his_ thing. He still does it, actually.

 

“Pity,” Wonwoo rumbles. “I like you.”

 

“I like me too,” Chan says cheekily, then turns back to Soonyoung with a knowing smile. Jihoon has abandoned all pretense of being subtle as well, and waggles his eyebrows at Soonyoung while looking back and forth between him and Wonwoo. Soonyoung isn’t too worried. Wonwoo is so socially obtuse Soonyoung thinks he should go and teach him, but especially in times like these, he’s glad he didn’t, because it works incredibly well in Soonyoung’s favor.

 

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung makes hurried introductions, fluttering his hands, not at all sure if he should just shove Jihoon out at the door at this point, or push Wonwoo back out. “This is Jihoon. My best friend since elementary school. Jihoon, this is Wonwoo, my —” At this, Soonyoung stops himself, because Wonwoo is _not_ his boyfriend, as he was about to say (he only wishes he could be), and swallows hard as he quickly covers with, “a potential buyer for the de Kooning piece.”

 

Soonyoung absolutely despises the way Jihoon takes a slow once over at Wonwoo. “Hello,” Jihoon says, pleased smirk beginning to unfurl.

 

“Hello,” Wonwoo says cautiously.

 

“Goodbye,” Soonyoung announces, as he pushes a sniggering Jihoon and Chan out the door. “Jet lag’s still a thing, right? Go sleep, you fool, and stop bothering me at work.” He points threateningly at Chan, even though he knows damn well that the kid will do whatever he wants — Soonyoung stopped being scary to him three years ago, when he had gotten drunk and sobbed about the animated movie about cars — “Make sure he gets to my apartment safely.”

 

Chan rolls his eyes affectionately and salutes him. “Aye aye, captain,” he says, standing at full attention, and then turns to lead Jihoon in the right direction.

 

Soonyoung leans on the doorframe, exhausted, while Wonwoo grins. They watch the both of them go.

 

“Ready?” Wonwoo asks. This time, he walks past Soonyoung and rummages around for the vase, as he’s seen Soonyoung do for the past couple of days.

 

“Do I have a choice?” Soonyoung jokes, slightly dazed. Wonwoo looks at home, at ease, in a place that is entirely Soonyoung’s own, and that’s a whole other can of worms he is not willing to tip over.  

 

“Well,” Wonwoo says as he returns in front of Soonyoung, a little bit too seriously, “you’ve always got a choice.” Soonyoung stares up at him, and does everything in his might not to kiss him then and there. Instead, he leans up and pats Wonwoo’s cheek and says, “I’ll go get my things and close up shop.”

  


* * *

 

 

“I have boy problems,” Soonyoung says by way of greeting when he gets home a good four hours later, pleasantly buzzed and warm all over, flopping onto his couch. Wonwoo had taken him to another restaurant and he had laughed so hard that spaghetti flew out of his nostrils. Wonwoo was horrified, and so was Soonyoung, but mainly because he still found Wonwoo cute after the entire ordeal.

 

“Hello to you too, Soonyoung,” Jihoon grins. “Wonwoo is cute, and as your best friend who conveniently also served as your personal therapist throughout the entirety of our childhood together, I think you should bang him.”

 

Soonyoung resists the urge to roll over and scream into the cushions. He sighs instead. “Chan’s been talking to you, hasn’t he.”

 

“Seokmin and him both, actually,” Jihoon hums pleasantly, petting Hoshi. “They’re right, you know. You haven’t done anything remotely romantic since the fiasco with Jeonghan.”

 

“Well, tell them they have no right to be giving me boy advice when they’re like that,” Soonyoung grumbles, more petulant than bitter at this point, which Jihoon comments on. It’s progress, Soonyoung thinks wryly, however slow. “They’re seriously going to smother me alive with all the Not Getting Together they’re doing.”

 

“Maybe if you got the guts to ask Wonwoo if he _like likes_ you, they’d spend less time worrying about you and figure out what’s going on with them,” Jihoon says, amusement bubbling in his voice. Soonyoung knows him well enough to tell when his friend is being an asshole just because he can.

 

“You fucker,” Soonyoung throws a pillow at him. “I’m actually suffering here!”

 

Jihoon protects Hoshi from the attack, and glares at Soonyoung indignantly, a tuft of blond hair rising up because of static. “You don’t have to be suffering. No one’s asking you to.”

 

“Besides,” Soonyoung mumbles forlornly, purposefully ignoring Jihoon, “he’s just trying to secure the package.” He pauses. “And just to be clear, it’s not my dick. In this euphemism.”

 

“He is most definitely trying to do a bit of both,” Jihoon says flatly.

 

Soonyoung nearly chokes on his spit. He scowls. “Warn a man, please, before you drop something so absurd,” he complains, throwing his hands in the air.

 

“It’s not absurd,” Jihoon frowns, mouth settling into a disapproving line. “It’s true.”

 

“Is not.”

 

Jihoon smiles a little bit at this, gentle, ever cryptic. “I don’t think you’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

 

“Yeah, like I’m an annoying piece of crap that’s standing between him and his dream.” Soonyoung huffs, crossing his arms.

 

“No,” Jihoon says softly, as he gets up to pad into the kitchen. “Like you hang the stars up in the sky.”

 

Soonyoung stops at this, and lifts up his head to peer at his best friend over the couch.

 

“Tomorrow’s your last date with him, isn’t it?” Jihoon asks simply, pausing in front of the calendar, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb the size of Jupiter onto Soonyoung’s entire world, shaking its foundations to the core. “Make it count.”

  


* * *

 

 

If Soonyoung’s being very honest, he thinks he decided to give Wonwoo the painting a long time ago.

 

Maybe it was when they’d had dinner that night, Soonyoung basking in the wondrous sight of a boy in love with something beyond himself. He always has had a weakness when it comes pure emotions; Soonyoung is a creature of impulse, the undefinable, more interested in the intangible, the abstract, rather than cold hard fact. Maybe it is all the flower bouquets that sit collecting dust on the counter of his shop — Seokmin jokes that people might mistake Soonyoung’s shop for his, what with all the flora in it nowadays. Gestures might become outdated, but never the feelings behind them.

 

Probably, he concludes, it was all the moments in between.

 

It is the final date, and after they finish eating, just as they decide it would be fun to walk the cobbled streets under the moonlight, it begins raining magnificently out of nowhere, despite the warm summer air. If Soonyoung was that kind of person, he’d take it as a sign.

 

They duck under an awning, laughing a little bit. Soonyoung lets himself fall further into Wonwoo’s space. If the other man notices, he gives no indication. Wonwoo gathers his balance first, and plants his hands on Soonyoung’s shoulders to straighten him out, pushing their bodies away from each other. Soonyoung misses the feel of Wonwoo with an ache fiercer than he’s ever known.

 

“Didn’t you check the weather?” He says instead. He shakes the droplets out of his hair, mussing it up with his hands, taking extra care to get it all over Wonwoo, who’s doing the same thing.

 

“No,” Wonwoo shoots back, whining when Soonyoung’s hair water gets all over him. “But you didn’t either.”

 

“You’re the one taking me on the date! Shouldn’t you be prepared?”

 

“Dates require two people to go on them!” Wonwoo points out, indignant. “I covered dinner, you can worry about all the things that come after.”

 

“That is,” Soonyoung huffs, before dropping his hands in defeat, “very valid.” He crosses his arms, and they both stare at each other, sopping wet, before bursting out into laughter again.

 

Wonwoo stubbornly walks him to his apartment, even though Soonyoung tells him he’ll get sick and sniffly and die because his immune system is a weak piece of shit. Wonwoo tells him it doesn’t matter, and that if it’s really his time to die, then so be it. That is an awfully shitty way to die, but Soonyoung is too giddy at the prospect of spending more time with Wonwoo, so he takes it.

 

It’s the most fun he’s ever had, running for cover and ducking under various buildings for reprieve from the rain, drying out as best as they can only before getting soaked all over again.

 

“So,” Wonwoo says softly, as Soonyoung’s apartment complex pulls into view, “this is it, huh?”

 

“You really did need all seven days,” Soonyoung teases. “You’re not as charming as you claim to be, Jeon Wonwoo.”

 

“I have 99% success rate, then. I can deal with that,” Wonwoo shrugs, smile tugging at his lips. He peeks down at Soonyoung through wet bangs, a little bit shy. His glasses are rain-speckled, fogging up a little bit in the midst of the humid heat. “But this was fun for you, right?”

 

Soonyoung beams despite himself. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

 

“Good.”

 

They end up at the stairs leading to Soonyoung’s doorstep. It is quiet for a while, the rain filling in the gaps. Wonwoo shuffles his feet, a little unsure as to where to go, and there is a part of Soonyoung that wants him to stay. He bites his lip then, and squares his shoulders. “I’ve decided to give it to you. The painting, I mean.”

 

Wonwoo stiffens, voice hoarse. “Are you sure?”

 

“As sure as I’ll ever be.” Soonyoung laughs, a bit shaky. “I mean, what was I really going to do with it, anyways?” He thinks of Jeonghan, and figures memories like those should be given away. There is no use in keeping them so close to the skin, so close to the surface, where it might hurt more when uncovered over and over again.

 

“Look, are you sure?” Wonwoo nervously adjusts his glasses. “I’ll find another piece elsewhere for the collection. I mean, I don’t know the entire story, but it means a lot to you, that much I know.”

 

“Now, Wonwoo, you wouldn’t be trying to change my mind, now would you?”

 

Soonyoung thinks there’s some kind of poetry in giving Wonwoo art, no matter what form it comes in. To give someone a piece of creation? It means something. A love confession, maybe. Tangled somewhere beneath someone else’s words, someone else’s intentions. He just can’t find the words for it right in this moment.

 

“Are you sure?” Wonwoo only repeats, and says nothing more.

 

Soonyoung’s faintly aware that it’s raining outside. It rails against the roof, crying. Something in his chest rails against his insides too. Thunder claps, and it is a wondrous booming sound.

 

“Yeah,” he croaks, though when lightning strikes, there’s a part of him that splinters too. Wonwoo is good at noticing these kinds of things, because he slides his hand over Soonyoung’s and squeezes, hard, once, twice. Wonwoo has cold hands, but that’s okay, Soonyoung thinks. His are warm enough for the both of them.

 

They’re silent for a long time after that, staring out at the dark, watching the way the street lights flicker uncertainly under the onslaught of the downpour. Wonwoo does not pull away his hand. Soonyoung does not complain.

 

The thanks that Wonwoo whispers gets lost in the sound of the raindrops, underneath all the thundering that Soonyoung’s heart is doing.

  


* * *

 

 

Soonyoung pulls at the bowtie hanging around his throat, and gasps for air. It is unbelievably stuffy in here, it being the art exhibition unveiling, stuffed to the brim with people in formal attire and lipsticked smiles. He is only here for the free food, and maybe, _maybe_ Wonwoo too, but he would die before he admitted any of that out loud.

 

“Soonyoung!” Junhui grins, coming up behind Soonyoung, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re the one who’s head over heels for our Wonwoo, am I right?” Now Soonyoung’s gasping for air, but for a different reason.

 

“Junhui?” Wonwoo asks. “Soonyoung?” TWICE blares in Soonyoung’s head before he can sufficiently short-circuit at the sight of Wonwoo cleaned up, hair slicked back and looking absolutely impeccable in a crisp white suit. Soonyoung is not sure if he wants to evaporate into thin air or burst out crying.

 

“Hi,” Soonyoung squeaks, though he’s sure his cheeks are melting off his face at this point, with the intensity of his blush.

 

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Junhui winks, and leaves with dramatic flourish. Soonyoung supposes you can afford to be that way when you’re devastatingly handsome. The world is run by people like Wen Junhui.

 

“You made it,” Wonwoo grins. His fingers fidget by his side, as if not knowing what do. Soonyoung doesn’t know the appropriate course of action either. There is not a single handbook on what to do in this kind of situation, which is all sorts of disappointing. Soonyoung spent the entirety of the cab ride googling it too, to no avail. Despite being technologically challenged.

 

“You stole my painting. Of course I’d be here,” Soonyoung speaks surly, but he knows that his begrudging smile betrays all that he’s feeling at the moment.

 

“I did not steal it,” Wonwoo rolls his eyes, just like the brat that he is. Something breaks in the awkwardness around them, and Soonyoung finds it a little bit easier to breathe. His smile turns mischievous. “But I stole your heart, right?”

 

“That’s so lame.” Soonyoung squawks, fanning the air with his hands. Is it hot in here? He’s positively sure it’s burning. He hisses at Wonwoo, scandalized, eyes darting back and forth between all the people gathered here, “What on earth possessed you to say such a thing?”

 

Wonwoo seems to have gone loopy or something, because he cups Soonyoung’s cheeks with both his palms, smiling softly. “You can’t fool me, Soonyoung. You’re so into that.”

 

Soonyoung acts braver than he feels. “So what if I am,” he says, breath shaky. “Am I going to get a kiss out of this, or what?”

 

Wonwoo’s lips tilt a little upwards, thumbs stroking Soonyoung’s cheeks idly, like he’s trying to commit the landscape to memory. God knows, Soonyoung’s always etching Wonwoo’s features into his.

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Maybe?” Soonyoung babbles, ears burning. “Maybe this was a bad idea. You know, I left my socks in the washer, I should really go check on them—“

 

Wonwoo silences Soonyoung with his lips, mouth searing and hot and wet at the same time.

 

This must be what it feels like, Soonyoung thinks dazedly, to be truly kissed. He savors the taste of art on his tongue.

 

“You never do your laundry,” Wonwoo murmurs wickedly into the kiss with a chuckle, low and rumbly. There’s something in Soonyoung’s chest that jumps at the sound. “You leave it until it overflows and Chan ends up doing it for you because he can’t stand the way it starts to stink up your apartment. He doesn’t even live there, which speak volumes about how much he cares about it, about you. And Seokmin threatens you constantly about it, say they’ll never talk to you again until you practice cleaner habits, but he wouldn’t — they couldn’t, they don’t have the heart — so you promise to do it next time.” He smiles at this. “Except you don’t, because you’re _you_ , Kwon Soonyoung, and because you have some sort of bizarre aversion to laundry machines. Machines in general, really.” Wonwoo rests his forehead against Soonyoung’s. “And I’m really into that. Like stupid dumb into it.”

 

And it sort of delights Soonyoung.

 

“To be fair,” Soonyoung whispers, “I’m stupid dumb into you too.” Wonwoo smiles, and tugs Soonyoung back into another kiss.

 

* * *

 

  
Soonyoung falls in love on a Wednesday. Again. This time, it is, in fact, with a person.

 

 _How horribly cliché_ , Soonyoung wails, but he doesn’t get to say much after that, because Wonwoo tugs him into yet another kiss, smiling all the while, fingers tucked into Soonyoung’s belt loops.

 


End file.
